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“Absolutely,” I say, the words all breathy as my eyes close lightly.
Slipping his finger under my chin, he twists my head and kisses me. “Looks like we have a secret worth keeping.”
My stomach tumbles as his lips press against mine. It flips and rolls, coiling up tight and unraveling into a heavy pile that attempts to drag me down. But Mark holds me, he grips me around the waist and pulls me in against his chest.
What the hell am I doing?
This was supposed to be a one night thing. A quick release, a little sauce on the side to top off the evening, but here I am sucking face with him again, only this time, in my city. I tried, I really did try to convince myself that what I've been feeling is some weird aftermath of really great sex. But the longer he kisses me, the tighter he holds me, the more he whispers in my ear with sweetness, the less I care about what our original intentions were.
Holding my face, he breaks our kiss and smiles. “So, now that I have your attention, when are you going to stop postponing the inevitable and just showcase your talent?”
Laying my head back, I chuckle. “Not gonna happen. It's not in the cards my parents drew for me. Remember, we're art buyers, not art creators.”
“But aren't your parents doctors or something?”
“Plastic surgeons.”
“Isn't that just like art? They create a new face or chest or ass for someone else?” Mark gives me a toothy smile as he shrugs his shoulder. “I'm just saying, it's not that far off.”
“You really don't know my parents at all.”
“You're right, but I'm willing to try and get to know them. And I don't care if your mom gives me her stink eye. Hey, maybe you can drop this whole art thing on her, and she'll be so occupied with her hate for this poor country boy, that she'll just agree to anything you say to get rid of me.”
“Oh God. Trust me, you don't want to be on the sharp end of my mother's personality. She'll spear you, put your head on a stick, and set you out to ward off anyone else who thinks about coming close to her daughter. And this art idea will absolutely do that.”
“That could be a problem.” Mark spins me around so I'm facing him, gathering me up in his arms.
Leaning my cheek against his chest, I let him hold me. I love the way this feels. I know I shouldn't, but I do. Squeezing me snugly, he rests his chin on the top of my head.
And then it hits me. Maybe he's right. Not about being the distraction, but about making an impression.
“Hey, you want to come with me tomorrow morning to the charity breakfast my mother put together?”
“Charity breakfast. . .” Pausing, he quirks a brow. “Your mother doesn't strike me as the charity type. I see her more like Scrooge McDuck, diving into a vault of money.”
“Charity looks good, and it goes with the territory.”
“I'd go, but I don't have a suit. I actually don't even own a suit, the one I had for the wedding was a rental.”
“No suit,” I repeat, pushing my chest away from his. “If you had one, would you say yes and go with me?”
“Sure, you're the only reason I'm here. I don't really care to wander around by myself.”
“Then I know just where to take you to fix this suit problem.”
